


Monster

by renecdote



Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Guilt, M/M, Misunderstanding, born out of miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14788637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: He saves a college student from a mugging as the rising sun sets the city on fire. She calls him a hero and it feels like a Kryptonite knife through his chest. What kind of hero hurts the most important person in their life?It is little comfort that Bruce can’t possibly hate him as much as he hates himself.





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr: _lemonadegarden asked: "I'm a monster" for the angst to fluff prompt fic. As for the ship, just go ahead and surprise me!_

**** His hands are red. Clark scrubs at them beneath the running water but no matter how many pink soap suds slide down the drain, his hands stay red. Stained with blood. Worse than the blood he couldn’t save. This is blood he _caused_. Clark feels sick just thinking about it.

Bruce is okay, Alfred called to say so, but Clark can’t bring himself to go visit. He needs to apologise, but what can he say? No amount of words can convey the deep regret and self-loathing that has sunk into Clark’s bones and coiled around his heart.

Would Bruce even want to see him? He probably doesn’t. And that’s okay. Clark wouldn’t blame him for... for being angry. Wary. Hurt. Afraid. He should be all those things.

Clark turns off the tap. His hands are still stained red. 

—

Clark’s dreams are filled with screams and blood and snapping bones. Rough pleas and wounded yells. He wakes feeling more tired than when he went to sleep. 

The rest of the night is spent stopping petty crimes. He saves a college student from a mugging as the rising sun sets the city on fire. She calls him a hero and it feels like a Kryptonite knife through his chest. What kind of hero hurts the most important person in their life?

It is little comfort that Bruce can’t possibly hate him as much as he hates himself.

—

Bruce is brooding more than usual, Alfred tells him. Clark listens patiently to the hints that he should go to the Manor and then hangs up with a vague excuse about not being able to get away from work. Alfred has good intentions, but Clark is sure Bruce won’t want him around. Not yet. The security at the Manor has probably been updated to stop Kryptonians from getting in by now anyway. That would be the smart thing to do after what happened, and Bruce is the smartest man Clark knows.

Images of red and pain and snapping bones flash through his mind. Sickening green, dawning realisation, horror like a vacuum sucking the air out of his lungs. Hands shaking, words stuttered, a hand reaching out. Then the boom of the sound barrier and he’d been back in Metropolis, falling to his hands and knees, heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

No. Bruce won’t want him back in his home anytime soon.

If he even wants to see Clark again.

Maybe he shouldn’t. 

Clark’s apartment feels empty and his bed is cold. He can hear the sounds of a couple laughing over dinner two floors down. It makes his chest ache.

—

“We need to talk.”

Clark swallows. This is what he’s been dreading. Now that it’s here… better to just bite the bullet, not let it drag on too long. “I’ll clean out my stuff whenever you want.”

Bruce blinks. His jaw is all tense angles. “What?”

“The things I have at your place.” Clark frowns. “If... if you’d rather I didn’t come by at all, that’s okay. I mean it’s just clothes, and a charger or two, it’s not-“

“What are you talking about, Clark?”

“You’re breaking up with me... aren’t you? It’s okay, I understand. I’m a monster, I wouldn’t want to be with-“

Bruce slaps him. Clark reels back in shock, hand flying up to his cheek. Bruce is shaking out his own hand but Clark is sure it isn’t broken; he’d moved with the hit at the last minute.

“Okay.” Clark grimaces. “I deserved that. I’m really sorry I hurt you, I know it’s not enough but-“

Bruce slaps him again. “You’re an asshole, Clark Jonathan Kent,” he hisses. “Don’t I get a say in this breakup? Don’t I get a say in what _hurts_ me?”

Clark shakes his head. Not a denial, but confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Bruce steps closer. They’re toe-to-toe now, breath mingling. “Then let me clear it up for you: we are not breaking up.”

“But I hurt you. I threw you into a wall like you were a doll, I broke your arm like it was a twig, I could have _killed_ you.”

“That was not your fault.” Bruce’s fingers dig into his arms. “Would you hurt me now? Without the influence of Red Kryptonite?”

Clark can’t conceal his horror. “No, of course not, I-“

_I love you._ He bites his lip; now is not the time.

“I know you’re stronger than me,” Bruce says, quieter now, softer. “You always have been. You always will be. But it has not driven me away yet, and this time does not change that.”

Clark’s eyes burn. “I don’t deserve you.”

Bruce’s brow is a fierce line. “Whether you do or not, you’re stuck, with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, or find me on tumblr [here](http://tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


End file.
